


Just a Little Pick-You-Up

by seekingmoonscapes



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Artist Steve Rogers, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Barista Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky and Sam are bros, Bucky's Ex-Boyfriend is a Nasty Piece of Work, Canon-Typical Violence, Darcy is the sassy straight friend, Ex-Military Bucky, Fluff, M/M, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Some Plot, Teacher Steve Rogers, Tony Stark is Iron Man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11809617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingmoonscapes/pseuds/seekingmoonscapes
Summary: Steve is an art teacher at Stark Industries non-profit Academy, who can’t seem to find any luck in the love department. Bucky is an ex-marine-cum-Psychology-student, paying his way through college with a coffee shop job. Every time Steve orders coffee, Bucky writes a bad pick up line on his cup.





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to cup-of-hot-coffee for the prompt!
> 
> So, most of this story is written, but only on paper. I'm in the process of typing it up so I'm probably going to be updating little but often :)

##  ****Steve** **

“So you broke it off, huh?” Clint smiled consolingly. They were standing in line at an indie book-café, the kind that served coffee in mismatched mugs, played instrumental jazz and had thrift store armchairs encircling thrift store tables. It’d been Clint’s idea; Steve just usually went with cheap stuff from a cart.

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, “It just wasn’t… working. Alex’s nice but just wasn’t…”

“The One. I get it.” Clint commiserated by giving him a friendly clap on the shoulder, though he used his archery arm so it hurt more than he probably intended.

“Yeah, it just didn’t seem fair to draw it out.” Steve grimaced. “Sometimes, I think there must be something wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you, man. You just haven’t found it yet. Trust me, when you do, you’ll know.” Clint assured him and, as a happily married man with two kids, he seemed like the type of guy who knew what he was talking about. “Now, what do you want? My treat.”

“Just a latte’s fine.”

“Alright, how about you grab us a table?”

Steve nodded and headed towards the comfy couches . It was pretty early in the morning so he had his pick of seats. He chose one by the window to watch the people passing by.

Clint joined him a few minutes later with a smirk on his lips.

“What’s with you?”

“I think the barista’s a little sweet on you.” Clint answered in that smug tone that came out whenever he was teasing someone. He passed Steve his latte, which was in a huge pastel green mug with white polka dots. It was balanced on a comically-small blue saucer which was entirely covered by a brown, recycle-look napkin. He could see some writing so he lifted the cup to read it.

_Sounds like your having a bad day, so here’s a cheesy line to ‘pick you up’:_  
_You’re like pizza - even when you’re bad, you’re good ;)!_

Steve couldn’t help the laugh. It was so ridiculous and yet exactly what he needed right then. He looked over at the bar to check out the author and wondered how he’d missed the guy the first time round. He had warm eyes and black hair that was pulled into a ‘man’-bun. It should have looked ridiculous, but somehow the guy made it work; maybe because a few strands had worked themselves free, giving it a careless look. He was clean shaven too, which Steve didn’t expect given the general fad for a five o’clock shadow, but it accentuated the smile he was directing at a customer. A guy could stop someone dead at twenty paces with a smile like that.

“You okay, man? You’re staring.” Clint asked, not bothering to keep the amusement out of his voice. Steve looked back at him with a glare.

“I was not staring.” Steve protested, though he knew he had been and that made him feel guilty because he’d broken up with Alex on Saturday, barely two days ago.

“Yeah, you were. It’s alright, I’m not judging. It’s free to look, right?” Clint smirked into his black coffee.

“Shut up.”

Clint pantomimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.

Of course, nothing could actually keep Clint silent for longer than 30 seconds but he did at least change the subject. He told Steve the story of their weekend escapade when their youngest had mistaken his mother’s secret stash of wine coolers for soda. Steve couldn’t stop laughing at Clint’s impression of his drunken 7 year-old. Clint was always good at distraction and if Steve bolstered it with discreet glances at the friendly barista every now and then, well… then nobody needed to know but him.

Clint finished his story, checked his watch and sighed.

“Ah, the weekend is officially over.” He lamented.

“Nothing last forever,” Steve commiserated.

“Alright, I’m gonna use the can and then we should probably get going.” Clint said as he stood. Steve nodded and started collecting their cups together into a little tower in the centre of the table. He wasn’t sure if he was being helpful, but it made him feel better.

He was just shrugging on his jacket when he spotted the napkin still peeking out from beneath his cup. He glanced around for the barista who’d written it, half-hoping he had come closer now that was Clint was gone; or a least be looking in his direction. Of course, he hadn’t moved. He was laughing with a brunette girl behind the counter. Steve wondered if they were flirting.

He looked back at the note. It seemed rude to leave it there to be thrown away, especially if the one who cleared the table ended up being the barista who’d written it. He pulled it free from beneath the balancing mugs and quickly folded into his pocket before Clint came back. He told himself he was just being polite, that was all.

He’d made up his mind to thank the guy too,but by the time Clint had come back he was alread busy with new customers and it would be way too awkward to interrupt. He settled for hoping the barista would look up as they passed, but he didn’t. Instead the female barista gave them a cheery goodbye as they past her and into the winter chill of Queens.

Work was a ten-minute stroll away though a small park and then a plaza of office buildings. The Maria Academy for Gifted Children (also know as Tony Stark’s MAGiC school) had an extensive campus for an urban academy, but Steve guessed the Stark fortune could afford a lot of decent real estate. It was an impressive place, made even more impressive by the fact that ‘gifted’ did not actually mean ‘monetarily’. A large majority of their students were scholarship students, which would be impossible for any investor with pockets shallower than Tony Stark. (Although, it didn’t hurt that Principal Potts was particularly skilled at convincing other rich philanthropists that their school was a worthy cause for tax write-offs.)

Even though it was half past ten, the school grounds were still milling with students. As recent studies had proved teenagers were more productive later in the day, classes now started at 11 and finished at 6 every day. Steve wasn’t really sure if it made that big of a difference, but he certainly appreciated the lie-ins.

Clint and Steve split at the school gates, Clint heading to science complex for his Applied Calculus class whilse Steve meandered towards the Art block. It was usually only a few minutes walk to reach his classroom, but today he was intercepted by the gym teacher. Natasha Romanov was a stunningly beautiful woman of terrifying capability. How someone with five black belts, certifications in almost every firearm in existence and 5 years experience as a Primaballerina ended up teaching surly teenagers, Steve had never been able to fathom. How someone of those qualifications actually seemed to enjoy teaching those surly teenagers was even less fathomable.

“So I heard you have an admirer.” She smirked in lieu of hello.

“Clint text you.” Rogers surmised; he’d never understood the relationship between Clint and Natasha, only that it was Clint that had got her the job at MAGiC and that they never kept secrets from each other. Even when those secrets were other people’s.

“Of course.” Her grin was reminiscent of a shark who’d smelt blood. “ A hot barista - bit young for you don’t you think?”

“He wasn’t young. Late twenties at least.” Steve argued before he realised that wasn’t what he should have been protesting.

“And working in a coffee shop? Not a great sign for something long-term, but still perfect for a rebound.” She winked at him salaciously and he didn’t bother asking how she knew he needed a rebound.

“There is no rebound. There is no _anything_ here. He was just a guy trying to be nice.” Steve retorted firmly.

“Yes, and I bet I know how you’d like to thank him,” she countered mockingly, but there was no malice in it. Steve had come to realise (after a few months of friendship and a long conversation with Clint) that this was how Nat showed affection.

“As much as I appreciate the invasion of my love life, Nat, I have a class in twenty minutes that I need to prep for.” He told her.

“Have it your way.” She conceded, “but we should drink this weekend.”

Steve groaned but knew there was no use arguing, “Friday night, please. It took me two days to get over the last time.”

Natasha laughed, “You’re getting old.”

Steve’s first group was his most difficult class. Grade Nine were difficult not only because of they were more interested in phones than art but because it was the age of unchecked hormones. Half of the class erupted into giddy giggles whenever he spoke to them, which was irritating and mildly disturbing to contemplate. After an hour of that, Steve was more than ready for his much calmer class of twelfth graders.

All of them already had projects they were working on for their end-of-term assessments and required very little direction so he was sat at his desk, trying to mark Art History essays. Unfortunately it was hard to concentrate on a poorly-composed report on the effect of Picasso’s abandonment of classical style when his mind kept sliding back to Barista Guy and his note.

There were a lot of questions rolling around in his head, such as ‘I wish I’d seen his name tag so I didn’t have to keep calling him Barista Guy’ and ‘ _You’re like pizza _-__ what kind of pick-up line was that?’ and, more importantly, had the guy really just been trying to be nice, or was Steve supposed to read something into it? Steve couldn’t even tell if the guy was gay; he had a terrible gaydar. And even if he was, maybe the guy had just been doing his #actofkindness of the day or whatever the new fad was now. He’d probably posted a picture of it on Instagram. If he’d signed his note, Steve could have tried to find his Instagram account to check.

Fortunately, before it went any further, Steve was interrupted from his thoughts of internet stalking by one of his students.

\--

He went back because he liked the coffee. That’s all.

“Oh hey, it’s you. Where’s your friend today?” The barista asked, his smile wide and genuine. . Now that he was close Steve could see that the sleeves of his black uniform t-shirt stretched interestingly over his broad arms and that the silver name tag pined to his chest read ‘Bucky’. His hair was in a ponytail today.

“Ah, he’s got the school run today,”Steve answered, trying not to feel awkward. “I… erm… so I just wanted to say thanks. For yesterday. The note. It cheered me up.” He smiled because he didn’t want to come off too serious, which would be creepy, but it felt a bit more like a grimace.

“No problem, we’ve all been there. Break ups are tough.” Bucky commiserated with a sympathetic smile. Then he waved towards the menu board pinned on the wall behind him “So what can I get you?”

“Just a latte, please. Regular’s fine.” Steve tried to ignore the disappointed feeling he got from the generic response. What had he expected really?

“Sure, to drink here or take out?” Bucky asked, already going through the motions on his register’s computer screen.

“Take out.” Steve refused to let himself sit on one of the comfortable sofas and stare at the barista pathetically as he drank his coffee. He’d done enough time as the moon-eyed loser in high school.

“Sure, any syrups? Caramel, hazelnut, vanilla?”

“No thanks, I like my coffee to taste of coffee. Or at least a very milky kind of coffee.” Steve conceded.

Bucky laughed; it was the kind of laugh that made you grin along with it, kind of wild and unmeasured. He took Steve’s payment and then gestured to the bookshelves, “Why don’t you check out some books? I’ll bring it over to you when I’m done.”

“Oh, ok. Sure. I’ll have a look.” Steve wandered over to the nearest bookcase as the sound of the coffee grinding and milk starting to be steamed. He ran his finger along the spine of a careworn Dickens, which was nestled alongside a modern thriller and a thick book on the proper maintenance of vegetable gardens. There didn’t seem to be a system, just a gentle kind of anarchy.

He was thumbing through the gardening book, purely out of curiosity, when the barista appeared at his shoulder.

“Here you are, one regular latte to go.” Bucky announced.

“Thanks. Well I better go to work.” Steve gave that small, reluctant smile that always seemed to accompany those words.

“You work near here? Whereabouts?”

“The Maria Academy, do you know it?”

Bucky looked surprised, “MAGiC? Yeah, of course. Wow. Are you a teacher?”

“Yeah, just art, though.” Steve admitted, a little deprecatingly.

“Just art? Art’s the best class: no lectures,no books, getting messy with permission, what’s not to like?” Bucky grinned and Steve could just imagine him as a teenager starting paint fights and drawing rude doodles in other students’ sketchbooks.

“Well, I have to teach art history too, so it’s not all watercolours and paper-maché.” Steve confessed with a laugh.

“Aww, that’s a shame. So do you have a free period now?”Bucky asked, glancing at his watch as if double checking it was nine thirty.

“Ah no, we don’t start classes until 11.”

“Damn! I wish my school had done that. Might not be doing my degree ten years later than everyone else if they had.” Steve wanted to ask about that but the front door opened and a young couple came in. “Sorry, man, gotta go. Enjoy your coffee!”

It wasn’t until Steve had already left the café that he noticed the writing on his cup.

_No syrup - good choice. You’re sweet enough :P_


	2. Bucky

##  **Bucky**

“I saw that,” Darcy chimed up as the last of their sudden stream of customers, a group of businessman in high spirits who’d mercifully all taken their coffee black, left the counter and took a seat. They were booting up laptops that suggested they were probably going to make a single coffee each last at least two hours.

“Saw what? The guy’s choice in ties? It was kind hard to miss.” Bucky replied, throwing a glare at the offending tie-wearer, who seemed to be the leader of the group, whilst he was wiping spilt coffee grounds off the counter.

“Not _them_ ,” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw he wave her hand irritably, “ _You’re sweet enough _…__ That’s real cute.”

Bucky resisted the urge to smile as he throw the grounds into the bin; he’d actually almost forgotten about it in the onslaught of cappucinos and double whip mocha frappes that had come after. He turned to face Darcy so she could appreciate his eye roll and sighed, “It was a joke.”

“You hate that joke,” Darcy responded bluntly as she started putting away the last patch of washing up.

“I hate customers making that joke like they think it’s original.” Bucky specified. He watched her for a moment before she demanded he come over to help sort the dainty cake forks from the teaspoons and butter knives.

“You know when the girls say it to you, they’re trying to flirt, right?” Darcy informed him, pointing with a knife and raising her eyebrows.

“It’s not flirting - the guy just went through a break-up; I wanted to cheer him up.” Bucky shrugged, pushing as much nonchalance into his stance as possible. It wasn’t that he was exactly lying; it would be a pretty sleazy move to go after someone who’d just had a break-up. However, as much as he didn’t want to be a dick, he also wasn’t blind. He turned to age jokes to try and wiggle out of the situation, “Despite what you young people think, trying to be nice to someone doesn’t instantly mean you’re flirting.”

“Would you stop with the young jokes, I’m like three years younger than you!” Darcy protested, making Bucky laugh. “Look, all I’m saying is if he’d been making googly eyes at me last time, I’d be all over him in a heartbeat. The guy’s cute, blonde and stacked. What’s not to like?” Darcy spread her hands out as if opening the question to a crowd.

“As nobody saw these ‘googly eyes’ except you, and you’re in the flush of puberty-” Darcy thumped him in the arm.

“I said stop it!” She demanded irritably.

“Ok, ok! I surrender! Look, the guy just had a break up, Darce; I was just trying to give him a laugh.”

“I bet that’s not all you’d like to give him.” Darcy winked outrageously and darted off to clear a table before Bucky had a chance to retaliate.

“Is Darcy teasing you again?” Wanda asked, her unmistakeable accent , coming from behind the floor-to-ceiling bookcase that separated the bar from most of the sitting area. It was a backless grid structure, filled with hardbacks, plants and travel souvenirs, and with plenty of gaps for people-watching. She was peering through one such gap now, a bronze antique watering can in hand.

Wanda was a contradiction. She was soft-spoken, but had a temper like a firecracker; she was meticulous about anything she made, but she hated order; she loved the peace of green, growing things, but got restless and irritable when she wasn’t busy. Sometimes she could be a difficult boss.

“No more than usual. At least I’m never bored around her.” Bucky conceded.

“One day, it’ll be her turn and we’ll be the ones teasing her. I’m looking forward to it.” Wanda grinned wickedly. It was the kind of grin that made him believe the stories she told about her pre-marital life.

“You’re a scary woman, Wanda.” Bucky informed her.

“And don’t you forget it.” She responded, which came out more sinister than she probably intended  in her Slavic accent.

\---

It got busy after that and it was 3 o’clock before he knew it. He made his goodbyes and wrapped himself up in his big black coat and the charcoal scarf Wanda had gave him when she’d been going through her brief knitting stage. He let his hair down so he could jam a grey beanie on his head because there was nothing he hated more than cold ears.

He took a bus to the VAC, the Veteran Activity Centre, set up by Boots on the Ground NY, where he had attended and now volunteered since he’d left the army 3 years ago. Sam Wilson, his counsellor and friend, was already preparing for the 4 p.m. PTSD support meeting.

“Hey, man,” Bucky smiled as he came into the room, “How’s it going?”

“Bucky, hey! It’s good. Are you here to help set up?” Sam asked, straightening up from where he’d been putting out chairs.

“Yeah, if there’s anything for me to do.” Bucky confirmed.

“There’s always something for an extra pair of hands to do,” Sam declared.

“Well, my hands are happy to oblige.”

People started trickling in from 3.45 onwards. Vets, mostly, some family members, some friends, all affected by PTSD in some way. Some Bucky knew by name, old-timers who’d been coming for a while, some only by face because they’d never spoken up. He was speaking to Rev. Kev, another old Marine before he’d become a man of the cloth when he heard someone stay his name.

“Sergeant Barnes? Is that you?”

It had been a long time since anyone had called him a sergeant. It was a strange feeling to hear the moniker again. He turned around to identify the speaker.

“Sitwell?” Jasper Sitwell had a gained a few pounds and started wearing glasses but his signature bald head and broad nose were unmistakeable.

“I know a reunion when I see one. I’ll get out of your hair, kids.” Rev Kev declared with a smile and clap on Bucky’s arm. He disappeared towards the powdered donuts.

“Sorry to interrupt. I almost didn’t recognise you with that hair; that’s certainly not army regulation,” Sitwell joked with a wry smile and then patted his own stomach reproachfully, “Then again, neither is this, huh?”

“I guess not,” Bucky concurred with a grin and shook hands with his old unit member. He’d never had any strong feelings towards Sitwell, besides finding him a bit of an oddball, but it was strangely nice to see him again, even if he was a reminder of a bad patch in his army time, “Wow, it’s been, what, five years?”

“About that.” Sitwell agreed, “Haven’t seen you since you transferred out suddenly. What happened?”

Bucky’s grin turned a little forced, “Nothing.” He answered a little too quickly, “I mean, in the end.  Just a promotion opportunity that didn’t pan out,” he lied. “So, when did you get out?”

“About a year ago. I was in D.C. for a while but moved here last month. I’m working for a private security firm now, executive role. I’m hoping _my_ promotion opportunity will pan out.” Sitwell added in that dry, straight way that made it hard to tell if it was meant to be a joke or not. Bucky chuckled anyway, just in case.

Looking around for an escape, he noticed that people were finally starting to sit.“Well, I think the meeting’s about to start. How about we grab some seats?”

He was shamefully grateful when Sitwell said nothing but goodbye to him for the rest of the evening.

\---

Wednesday morning went by quickly. He opened the cafe at seven and dealt with the steady stream of regulars until Tom came in at 8.30. Wanda started at nine, stalking in and setting up a double espresso before she said anything polysyllabic to anyone. After that ten rolled by swiftly and Bucky was clearing tables when he happened to see the teacher from the day before waiting at the crossing on the other side of the street.

He quick-timed his tray of dirty things into the back room and before darting back to the counter where Wanda was wiping down surfaces, waiting for their next customer.

“Ah… hey, why don’t you get the ordering done while it’s quiet?” He suggested, ignoring the little voice in his head telling him he was being an idiot, and apparently, a sleazy one at that. He was still pleased when Wanda agreed and disappeared into her office just as the teacher came in. The man smiled a little shyly when he saw Bucky at the counter.

“Hey.”

“Hey ,regular latte?”

The man’s smile grew a little wider and more natural, making crinkles at the corner of his blue eyes, “Yeah, that’s right. You must have a good memory.”

“It’s a skill,” Bucky acceded as though he remembered the orders of every customer who came through the door more than once. He was really glad that Darcy wasn’t in today, otherwise he would’ve never heard the end of this. He rang up the guy’s order and got the espresso shot started. Then he grabbed an empty cup and a pen.

“What should it be today…?” He asked, half to himself, tapping the end of the pen against his chin, “Ah… I’ve got it!” He scribbled, _If you were a steak, you would be well done _.__

“Do you have a stock of terrible puns in your mind, or do you make them up as you go along?” The man inquired, leaning against the counter as he watched Bucky write.

“ A little bit of both,” Bucky replied as he pulled the milk out of the fridge.

“So… busy day?”

It wasn’t the most imaginative conversation starter, but Bucky couldn’t help the grin it caused, “Not really, pretty standard.” He replied whilst he tested the calibration of the milk jug scales - Wanda hated waste, so everything was to the gram in her cafe. “Ready for a day of shaping the minds of America’s youth?”

The man laughed, a warm, honest sound that was impossible to dislike, “Something like that, I guess. I’m not sure how much shaping will be involved, my job’s pretty much crowd control if I’m honest.”

“I can imagine,” Bucky sympathised before the sound of steaming milk cut their conversation off. He watched the swirl with an expert eye, judging the temperature with the back of his hand until it was hot enough. Then the familiar routine, twist off the steam, tap the jug to the counter, grab the cup. Espresso, milk, a quick flick to finish off the easy heart pattern, slide the cup to the customer.

“Thanks.” The man turned the cup to read the inscription. _“If you were a steak_ … really?”

“It’s a classic,” Bucky countered defensively.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not,” The man replied, snapping a lid in place, “Or if it is, it really shouldn’t be.”

Bucky laughed, “Well they say the way to person’s heart is through their stomach…”

“I think that means cook for them, not compare them to food items.” The man argued laughingly.

“Oh is that what it means? They should really be more explicit.” Bucky grinned and shrugged. The man laughed and was about to reply when the bell above the door heralded the arrival of a gaggle of middle-aged women.

“Ah, I better go…” The man said, “See you around?”

“Yeah, see you next time.” Bucky replied and, with one last smile, the man left. The little sleazy part of his brain, the part that didn’t care the guy had just had break-up, unhelpfully pointed out that it was a great view.


	3. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Steve gets the wrong end of the stick

##  ****Steve** **

Bucky, it turned out, didn’t work on Thursdays, but Steve did get a loyalty card and a wink from the redhead with _manager_ printed on her name tag. This made him feel little more justified about returning the next morning and then the next and then the next. Even if the coffee was twice the price of his previous cart-bought joe, and even though, because Steve was a self-confessed philistine, he thought it tasted exactly the same.

“Hey! Regular latte, right?”

“Yep, that’s it.”

“Coming right up.”

_If you were a chicken, you’d be im-peck-able!_

He tried to tell himself that that bad pick up lines didn’t give him hope and he wished he could say he hadn’t been keeping them. They’d formed a sorry stack on the table near his front door but he couldn’t bring himself to throw them away, especially when he kept learning more about the guy who wrote them.

He learnt that Bucky had been a sergeant in the marines, which had come as a surprise that Bucky blamed on his hippy hair. He leanrt that Bucky had got his degree through the army and now he was studying for a doctorate in Psychology to become a veterans counselor. He learnt Bucky opened the shop almost every day because he rarely had morning classes. He learned that Bucky liked to watch cheesy sci-fi moves and superhero dramas. He learnt that Bucky had a habit of sucking on his bottom lip when he was making drinks.

He learnt that Bucky was straight when Steve saw him with the dark-haired barista on a bench in the park while he was walking home on Friday night.

He’d turned around a corner and almost stopped in surprise when he’d seen Bucky sitting on a bench a few paths over. He’d been bundled in a thick winter coat and smoking, which should have been a huge turn off but for some reason wasn’t. Steve had been about to alter his path to ‘accidentally’ walk past him, when he’d Bucky was joined by someone else; the dark-haired girl who worked at the coffee shop. They’d sat close, trading laughs and drags of their cigarette. The girl had said something and Bucky had reached over to tickle her, which had made her screech loud enough for Steve to hear . Uncharitably he’d thought she sounded like a banshee. Bucky had stopped tickling her, pulled her into a hug, grinning like the fool that Steve felt, and had kissed the top of her head.

Steve wasn’t sure why it came as a blow.

He realised the barista may have overheard Steve talking to Clint about his break up, but he must have thought Alex was a girl’s name. Steve knew from a wealth of experience that most straight (and some not-straight) people automatically assumed that anyone they met was heterosexual. The guy had never even been quasi-flirting with him; he’d just thought he was being nice to a fellow ‘bro’ who he’d thought had had a shit break up with a _girl_.

And even though it was exactly his luck, and even though it was only what he’d been telling himself since day one, and even though it wasn’t the first time, it was still disappointing. Suddenly he wasn’t in the mood for Friday night drinks at Natasha’s house any more.

\---

Of course, Natasha refused to let him back out. “Either you’re coming here or Clint and I are driving to you.” She declared and Steve could just imagine her face on the other side of the phone call. He resisted the urge to stick his tongue out at his phone, “Laura’s taking the kids to her mom’s this weekend. Clint wants to celebrate.”

“I’m not _celebrating_. You make me sound like a terrible father. I’m just _letting loose.”_ Clint whined in the background of the phone call.

“Why do Americans always think using metaphors makes things sound better?”

Which is why Steve ended up in Natasha’s soft, cozy apartment, playing poker with monopoly money so Natasha didn’t fleece them both. Clint and he had once joked that living in Nat’s apartment must be what it was like to live in a marshmallow. Everything was tactile; from the textured charcoal three-piece suite with its velvet, burgundy cushions and ethically-sourced fur throw, to the smooth, warm, wooden kitchen counters, to the thick, black carpets that contrasted against the white walls and ate up the hair of her long-haired, grumpy tomcat. Speaking of which…

“Where’s Crookshanks?” Steve asked as the cat’s usual perch on the top of the bookshelf was empty.

“Don’t call him that. He’s not even orange. Call.” Natasha replied as she added her bet to the pile. “Now, are you going to tell us what happened? Why did you want to bail?”

“Nothing happened,” Steve asserted, keeping his eyes fixed on his cards, “I just felt tired is all. I’m going to call too.”

“You know Steve, there’s a reason we play this game with Monopoly money.” Natasha stated sagely as she lay down a winning hand. Clint sighed heavily.

“Always so dramatic, Nat.” He declared. He turned to look at Steve, “So, tell us, does this have anything to do with the fact that you kept that little note from the hot barista?”

“How do you know about that?” Steve demanded, a little more defensive than he should have been, if their twin smirks were anything to go by.

“I’m a superspy.” Clint replied, tapping his nose conspiratorially.

“I only kept it because I thought it would be rude to leave it there for him to clean up. I threw it away when I got to work.” He lied, his hand curling around his vodka soda.

“Oo, cold, Steve, so cold!” Natasha exclaimed with an amused grin.

“What is this? You were laughing because I’d kept the note and now you’re laughing because I threw it away. A man can’t win.” Steve protested.

“Truer words have rarely been said about Nat.” Clint replied, which earned him a ‘damn right’ from the redhead.

“So what happened? You asked him out and got a ‘no’?” Natasha sympathised.

“No, nothing like that. I just… got my hopes up over nothing that’s all. He seemed nice and I thought he might be interested. I was wrong.” Steve summarised uncomfortably.

“How do you know he’s not, if you didn’t ask him out?” Clint pressured, starting to deal out the cards for their next hand.

“He’s straight. I saw him; he’s dating one of the other baristas, Darcy, I think she’s called.” Steve revealed.

Clint winced and added another shot of vodka to Steve’s drink, “Sorry, buddy.”

Steve laughed, “I’m not that beaten up about it. I talked to the guy less than thirty minutes overall. I think it just came a bit too close to Alex so I’m feeling a little burned out.”

“Wow, the dating world is a tough place; I’m glad I never did it,” Clint declared.

“Well, not all of us are lucky enough to marry our high school sweethearts.”

“Well, nobody would’ve wanted you marrying Tom Huick. Pretty sure he’s in jail now. Peggy Carter, however, she would’ve been a great beard.”

The conversation quickly devolved from there into who of Steve’s past partners would have made the worst spouse. Then it somehow devolved even more with the addition of more alcohol until they were dancing around the apartment to 90s hits, draped in Natasha’s silk scarves and hipster hats.

\---

Saturday was as every bit as cruel as it promised to be.

\---

On Sunday, Steve finally felt an inclination to be anything other than prostrate and gingerly nibbling on plain crackers. He had a deliciously unhealthy breakfast and decided to go for a run to refresh body and mind before getting down to the laborious business of marking sketchbooks and essays. A heavy bass and electronic swing accompanied him to the park, where he did a few laps because it was nice to see a bit of green. He was about to head out to do a small circle back to his apartment when he discovered the park had been a bad decision.

The barista, bundled in a steel grey jacket, his black work slacks and his hair covered by a lighter-coloured beanie, stopped walking and waved slightly when they spotted each other. He had a friendly, expectant smile pulling up one corner of his mouth that made Steve feel like an asshole for wanting to avoid him. It was hardly the guy’s fault he’d been born straight.

“Hey, bit cold to be running in just a t-shirt isn’t it?” Bucky asked incredulously,when Steve had jogged up to him and pulled out his earbuds. Steve noted he had his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets.

Steve shrugged a little awkwardly, “I’m hot-blooded I guess.”

“I’ll bet,” Bucky winked and it took all of Steve’s willpower not to hope it was flirtatious. _Girlfriend, he has a girlfriend…_

“Do you always go running on Sundays?”

“Sunday or Saturday, yeah, and during the week too.” Steve shrugged again and then felt stupid for doing so.

“Maybe we can run together sometimes? I’m always looking for a jogging partner and Sunday’s usually one of my free days. I’m just covering today because my manager had to take the day off.” He smiled in a what-can-you-do kind of way that Steve found impossibly attractive. He blamed it on the self-destructive part of his mind, which always seemed to find the things he couldn’t have the most irresistible.

“Ah… yeah, sure, let’s do that sometime,” replied Steve’s politeness while the rest of his brain was trying to think up some excuse.

“Cool, how about next weekend?”

“Oh, er… yeah, next weekend, sorry, I can’t. I’m, er… I’m busy.” Steve lied lamely, “…how about the weekend after?” He added, hoping that by then he’d have come up with a better excuse.

“Sure, I’ll save the date. “ Bucky grinned, which made Steve feel even more of an asshole, “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your run. See you tomorrow at the shop?” Bucky asked expectantly and Steve knew there was no way he could say no.

“Of course, see you tomorrow,” Steve nodded and then his mind froze on how he was supposed to leave. To his horror, he found his hand come up to wait for a handshake, some kind of awkward default that he managed to divert into a less embarrassing, though only slightly, half-wave. He shoved his headphones back in quickly and spun away before he had to see Bucky’s reaction to _that _.__

The remainder of his circuit was more of a sprint than a jog.


	4. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets a nasty surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this update took a little longer than I planned because I've realised I wanted to change the direction that the story was moving in and it means I'm having to rewrite a lot of handwritten ideas. My updates will probably be a slower from now on because of it, sorry!

##  ****Bucky** **

“Waiting for lover-boy?” Darcy asked huskily, leaning up against the bar with him.

Bucky snorted, “No.” He replied but the shortness of his answer let it ring false. In his defence, it had been a slow day without much to do except stare at the door and if a certain customer crossed his mind, well, the guy had said he’d be coming.

“Dear Santa,” Darcy suddenly began, scrunching up her voice to its highest tone, “I’ve been a very good boy this year so for Christmas I would like Cute, Blonde and Stacked delivered-”

“Shut up,” Bucky hissed but she was in full steam.

“ _delivered_ directly to my bedroom…”

“Seriously, Darce,” he tried to use his soldier voice but the traitorous smile on his face clearly made it less effective.

“And Santa, he doesn’t need to be wrapped.” Darcy finished with a mischievous glint and Bucky couldn’t stop the laugh that spurted out. Darcy grinned proudly as she usually did whenever she made some innuendo. Bucky wondered it what a said about him that one his closest friends had the sense of humour of a twelve-year-old boy. “Oh hey, what d’ya know - Santa’s real!” She suddenly declared in that quiet kind of voice that people do when they’re pretending to yell, “Although sadly, a bit of prude.” She added as Bucky swivelled round to face the door, which had just opened to admit Cute, Blonde and Stacked in the flesh.

CBS, as he had become known in the cafe thanks to Darcy’s persistence, looked a little on edge today. He held himself stiffly, staring at the menu board hanging over the counter without moving his eyes. The way people do when they’re pretending to read the contents but actually waiting for the barista to turn around so they can sneak to the restroom without buying anything. As CBS was a regular, Bucky doubted that was his game.

“Hey, looking for something a bit different today?” Bucky asked, letting his voice carry over to the guy. CBS gave a double-take that was almost too nonchalant.

“No… I mean yes, but I think I’ll just keep to my usual,” CBS shrugged uncomfortably, like his shoulders were suddenly a size bigger than he expected.

“You sure? I make a mean mocha…” Bucky suggested with an inviting rise in tone. He noticed Darcy slip away to clear tables and knew he’d pay for this moment of privacy with endless teasing later.

“Err… no, no, it’s fine,” CBS answered, shaking his head. He’d pulled his wallet out was flicking his thumb over a worn leather corner thoughtlessly.

“OK,” Bucky smiled and rang it up before he got started on drawing and tamping the coffee. He plucked a clean jug from the stack in the sink and filled it by eye with milk. “So busy day, today?” He asked, the usual meaningless small talk as he held the jug up to the steamer and tilted it to let the milk churn and foam into nice tight bubbles. It was a process he always found soothing.

“No more than usual,” CBS replied, certainly stiffer than usual. It was frustrating not being able to ask what was wrong without seeming nosy, “You?”

“Nah, quiet today. I’ve got the VAC later though.” Bucky judged the temperature with his hand on the outside of the jug, gave it a couple more seconds and then turned off the dial for steamer. As soon as he put the jug down, he dutifully picked up a cloth to clean the thin pipe with a quick, twisting motions. He looked back at his customer then, who seemed fascinated by the process. “Leaf or heart?”

“Sorry, what?” CBS jerked his eyes back to look at him. He looked almost… guilty about something

“Latte art,” Bucky replied, his curiosity about the man’s situation growing higher, “I can do a leaf or a heart. Which do you want?”

“Oh, leaf, leaf’s fine,” CBS answered hastily.

“Leaf it is,” Bucky affirmed, “But first…” he uncapped his pen and posed thoughtfully over the coffee cup, “What should it be today?”

“You don’t have to,” CBS told him sharply and then seemed to realise he’d come across a bit abrupt, “I mean, there’s only so many bad pick up lines one man can know, right?”

“Honestly, I just take that kind of thinking as a challenge,” Bucky responded firmly and scrawled the first thing that came to mind. _If you were a coffee, you’d be a cute-accino._  “It’s not my best,” he had to concede as he poured the milk. The leaf wasn’t his best either, having left the milk to rest a little too long, but CBS didn’t seem to mind.

“Thanks,” he smiled as he took the coffee. He read the inscription and looked at Bucky with his eyebrows raised, “cute-accino?”

“Hey, it’s getting hard, man,” Bucky retorted, “I’m gonna have to start keeping notebook so I can add them as the inspiration strikes.” That raised a smile as CBS pressed a lid over his distorted latte art.

“Thank you. See you around.”

“See you tomorrow.”

Bucky tried not to stare at his customer’s ass as he left the shop, but he was only human.

-

Tuesday was his day off that week and Bucky wished he could sleep in but he had assignments due and afternoon classes to keep him busy. He left university as the sky was turning a dusky pale purple, as though someone had tried to give it one of those rinses old women get in their hair. Then He climbed onto the bus that would take him to the VAC. It was full, being rush-hour, and Bucky was forced to stand with a backpack digging into his side and a young girl blushingly crushing against his chest at every stop and start. He breathed deeply and tried to focus on it, evening out the confusion of noise around him so that he wasn’t trying to pick up and analyse each sound for threat potential.

He breathed a long sigh of relief when he finally disembarked at his stop. Leaning up against the small shelter, he spent a few minutes revelling in having his personal space bubble back. Feeling more grounded, he walked quickly to VAC building. Sam was outside, talking to a smoking co-worker, when Bucky reached it.

“Oh, hey, Bucky. (I’ll speak to you later, Doug, yeah?) How are you, man?”

“Can’t complain,” Bucky shrugged with a smile, “How about you?”

“Oh, same old, same old. Though I’m freezing my nips off out here. Let’s head in. I wanna show you something.”

“Yeah? What” Bucky asked as he followed the counsellor into the building.

“Something of yours, got delivered earlier today.”

“Really? Here? What was it?” Bucky queried, bemused.

“ _Flowers_. You seeing someone you ain’t told me about?” Sam waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Bucky shook his head with a frown, he tried to come up with a list of people who might have sent him flowers and knew that he came here most Tuesdays. As both his parents had passed away some years back and his last romantic encounter being a quicky in the bathroom of a night club, only one person came to mind.

“Darcy? Seems like one of her strange jokes.”Bucky hazarded.

“Not unless you’re new nickname for her is your Winter Soldier.” Sam was still walking but Bucky’s body had screamed to a halt at the mention of that name.

“What?” He managed to choke out past the first tendrils of shock wrapping around his chest. Sam, being very good at his job, picked up on his tone instantly and turned round.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” He asked, walking back slowly, “Who’s the Winter Soldier?”

Bucky didn’t trust himself to speak, there were too many emotions to speak, anger, panic, disbelief, growling, ferocious hate and everything too strong and too fast for him to know which one he could funnel into words so he just shook his head.

“Is it _him_? Is it Hydra?” Sam added, his eyes serious and concerned, “Just nod if I’m right.”

Bucky closed his eyes to block out the room and focus on his breathing. He tried to take control of his rising emotions, concentrated on getting enough air in his lungs and keeping his thoughts rational, and then, what seemed like minutes later, he nodded.

\---

“It’s okay,” Bucky said quarter of an hour later, sitting in Sam’s broom closet office with a mug of half-decent coffee slowly being drained, “It was just a surprise. Never expected to hear that name again. It was a dumb joke of his because the first time we… got together… was on mission in a shitty tent in the middle of winter and we were sharing a sleeping bag for warmth.” The memory washed over him like cold baked-bean bath; unpleasant but not painful, not any more.

“Even so… I’m concerned. How did he know to send them here, today?” Sam wondered aloud, a rare frown on his brow.

“Sitwell,” Bucky replied, having already considered the question himself, “We were all in the same unit and he was here last week. I spoke to him. He was always pretty friendly with the captain and he didn’t know, nobody did, about us. He must have mentioned seeing me.” Bucky shrugged. He was starting to feel more and more distant from the whole scene. He welcomed the numbness, even though it probably wasn’t a good sign.

“So he sends you _flowers_?”

“It’s the kind of thing he’d do. He’s vindictive enough to want me to know he’d found me.”

“Maybe you should stay with me tonight,” Sam responded, “Just until we’re sure he’s not waiting somewhere nearby to follow you home.”

“After three years?” Bucky scoffed, “Hydra’s messed up but even he’s not that crazy.”

“Well, maybe you’re not, I __am__  worried about the mind of a guy who carries a rejection grudge that big for five years. At least let me drive you back and don’t think I won’t dig into this. I’ve already got Minnie checking his location; the old girl’s got some connections from her own army days.”

Bucky nodded and smiled, “I’ll always take a free lift.” He appreciated Sam’s concern; one of the things he’d always admired most about the man was his inability to walk past someone in need, but he was sure the flowers would be the end of it. Hydra’d had his last shot, the last word, just like he’d always needed to have. It’s not like Bucky had given him a chance five years ago.


	5. Steve

Sometimes, Steve really wanted to kick himself. Sometimes because he was a lazy ass who needed the motivation, but mostly because he had the self-preservation instinct of a male praying mantis.

Which, as it turned out, was exactly why he was standing in a coffee shop, stuttering into the face of the girlfriend of the guy that he absolutely didn’t have a thing for, except that he did (re: self-preservation instinct).

“One latte, medium, to go, right?” the girl read back his order and when he nodded she charged him the extraordinary amount he’d been paying the past four weeks for (and he was only ever going to admit this to himself) the pleasure of seeing her boyfriend’s face.

Her name badge read ‘Darcy’ which just made him think of Austen novels. He was trying not to imagine her with a bonnet and dress, standing next to Bucky in a cravat and skin-tight breeches when she started talking. “So… I know Bucky usually writes some terrible pun on these but honestly, I don’t have his soul-crushingly cheesy sense of humour,” Darcy quipped as she plucked a medium-sized cup from the stack. Steve forced a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound as fake to her as it did to him.

“It must be a gift or something,” he replied lamely.

“Or something,” She agreed, “I’m pretty direct, myself. Us millenials usually are, you know, apparently we don’t have the attention span for beating round the bush or whatever it is that middle-aged men have to say about it.”

“I know what you mean, my students can be… well, they’re not exactly subtle.” Steve spread his hands in the ubiquitous ‘what can you do’ gesture'. 

Darcy laughed, "you work at MAGiC, right? What's it like there? I heard it's pretty revolutionary."

"Well, it is and it isn't. There's only so much you can do with a classroom environment, "Steve smiled in a lop-sided, helpless fashion, "but the hours are pretty good and the curriculum is way more relevant than a lot of schools I've taught at." 

"Oh yeah? In what way?" She was still holding the cup in her hand but apparently it was a slow day and she was curious, like a lot of people were about Tony's famous academy. 

"Well, there's a whole class on the tax system for one." Steve replied, it was always his go-to showoff piece for MAGiC because it always got the same reaction.

"Oh, wow! I so need that class - do you think I'm too old to sign up?" 

"Yeah, probably - sorry." Steve chuckled.

"But seriously, that's awesome - life skills, that's what we need! None of this hypotenuse nonsense." Darcy declared, "So is that your class?"

Steve waved away the suggestion, "no, no, I need that class too. I'm just an Art major, numbers aren't really my thing."

"Well, that's a shame, cuz I was thinking of giving you mine." Darcy replied, grinning from ear to ear like a proud mother.

“I’msorrywhat?” Steve replied, almost tripping over the words as they rushed out. He must have looked ridiculous, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Hey I thought that was pretty smooth, no?" She laughed and raised her eye brows, “My number, you know, cellphone number?”

"I... yeah... I understood that bit but... I..." There were a number of perfectly normal and calm responses he could have given her; unfortunately  his surprised brain couldn’t think of any and instead went with: “I thought you had a boyfriend!”

Darcy’s eyebrows rose even higher, “I guess I’m flattered you’d assume so but, nope.”

“Oh right, erm… well you’re a very attractive girl so… but… erm very attractive _but_ not my type… I mean… I don’t mean… you’re…” Steve cut himself off before his rambling had him look any crazier, took a deep breath and just came out with it. “Sorry, what I mean is I’m gay so… no girl’s my type. Obviously. Er…” Steve closed his mouth before anything else could come out.

“Oh,” Darcy replied with wide eyes and Steve fidgeted in his well of awkwardness, “oh well, that makes it super embarrassing… I guess, that’s one point for heteronormativity and zero for liberal millenial…”

Steve chuckled, relieved to feel some of the tension slip away, “Yes, I guess, it is.”

 “Apparently I don’t have much of a gaydar,then,”Darcy lamented but she was smiling.

“If it makes you feel any better, mine’s pretty bad too,” Steve replied with a commiserating smile, “And it’s kind of more important for me.”

“Yeah, that must be a bummer!” Darcy laughed, “Let me get on that latte, anyway.” She turned to the coffee machine with a smile. It was almost like she hadn’t tried to hit on him two minutes ago - probably the least uncomfortable aftermath of a girl’s attempt to flirt with him since Natasha had shrugged and said he couldn’t blame a girl for trying.

In fact, now he was thinking about, Darcy hadn’t even seemed that surprised by his confession. Had she suspected he was gay? And if she had, why had she asked him out? Was she just proving a hunch? Or was it possible that she was actually 'asking for a friend'?

Darcy put the finishing touches to his latte, capping off the green, recycled-cardboard takeout cup with a black recyclable-plastic lid which Steve always threw into his regular garbage with a twinge of guilt. She handed it with him with a smile. “Bucky’ll be back tomorrow so no doubt he’ll have a new pick-up-line to entertain you with.”

Steve tried not to read anything into the comment but a little flutter of hope rebelled.

\---

Nat was suspicious the minute she saw him. “You’ve had good news?” She asked with narrowed eyes as he joined her and Clint for lunch.

“How do you always know?” Steve asked, not even bothering to pretend she was wrong.

“I’m good with people,”Nat replied as though she’d not caused the last substitute teacher to leave crying five minutes into their first observation interview.

“So what happened? Is this barista-related?” Clint added, as he pulled the lid off his disgustingly healthy chicken salad.

“Yes, if you must know.” Steve replied as he tucked into a perfectly-crafted BLT from his favourite bodega. “Turns out he’s _not_ dating the barista girl.”

“Ha- I knew it!” Natasha crowed.

“How’d you find out?” Clint asked.

“Well, she tried to give me her number when I went to buy a coffee this morning…”

“Really? she wanted to give you her _number _?__  Do people still do that? I thought it was all Facebooks and Instagram accounts these days.” Clint joked as Nat pursed her lips thoughtfully. Her chopsticks wavered unused over her expensive-looking sushi.

“Perhaps she was already sure your answer would be ‘no’.”

“I did wonder about that.” Steve admitted, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Which suggests she wasn’t asking for herself,” Nat continued, eyebrows raised suggestively and sharing a smirk with Clint.

“Yeah, maybe.” Steve shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich to stop the rest of the words waiting at the tip of his tongue from coming out. Of course, that didn’t stop Nat from saying them instead.

“And we know she must be pretty close to everyone’s favourite terrible pick-up artist….” She paused, hen started to smirk and Steve knew she’d just hatched a plan that would undoubtedly lead to his endless embarrassment, just like always.

“What?” He queried, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

“I think it might be time for me to assess this barista’s straightness for myself.” She declared with an unholy glee. Clint’s mouth was currently full of lettuce but he was still fully capable of expressing his approval of the idea via his eyebrows.

\---

Despite Steve’s protestations, they informed him that they would meet him at the cafe 9am the next morning. Which was why he was staring blankly into a window display a few shops away, berating himself for being coward and not even being sure why he was nervous anyway. It wasn’t Nat and Clint, they might tease him mercilessly when they were alone, but they wouldn’t say anything to the barista. They were high school teachers, not high school students. Nope, it was all to do with the barista and that damn flutter of hope.

Steve stared at his reflection, half-hidden behind a woollen beanie and decided it was time to talk some sense into himself.

“You’re being an idiot. You barely even know the guy, you’ve spoken to him a grand total of six times. He serves you coffee and bad pick-up lines. Like terrible. There’s no way they could be serious. Not to mention, you broke up with Alex like 10 days ago. You’re nearly thirty years old, not a teenager who--”

“You alright, son?” Steve jumped when the man spoke. He was middle-aged with a bald head and an overcompensating moustache and standing in the doorway of the shop Steve was staring into. Judging by the suit he was wearing, he was probably the manager. With a wave of mortification, Steve wondered how much he’d heard.

“Ah yes, I’m fine, everything’s fine, thanks, sorry. I was just leaving.” He spun on his heels and quick-timed to the cafe, asking himself the whole way how he managed to put himself in these situations.

Natasha was already there, of course, leaning with a hip cocked against the counter as she flirted with the barista. It was an area she was clearly accomplished in, not too hot, not too cold. Steve was extremely jealous. Even despite finally growing 5 inches in his last year at high school and bulking up in the discounted gym on his university campus, he always seemed to revert back to his bumbling 17-year-old self in front of any guy he found attractive.

“Hey,” Natasha had seen him and was smirking in his direction, “we were just talking about you.”

Steve glanced over at Bucky who was grinning over Natasha’s fancy hand-drip coffee. “Believe nothing she says, she’s a Russian sleeper agent,”he warned as he came to a stop and Natasha curled a friendly arm around his waist. It was a test, Steve knew, because she rarely touched anyone outside of a sparring mat.

“Well, there’s another person I had to add to my hit list, well done Steve,” Natasha rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Hey, I’m good at keeping secrets,” Bucky argued, his hands held in the air like he was at gunpoint, “and the only thing I learnt was your name; we didn’t have time for the embarrassing stories.”

“That’s a relief,” Steve replied.

“I’m going to sit down,” Natasha declared, withdrawing her arm and flashing a smirk at Steve, “Could you bring me drink over?”

Steve had always known she was a devious woman, but it wasn’t until this instant that he’d realised how much so. No wonder she never dated - who could keep up? “Yeah, sure, see you in a minute.”

“Thanks. See you later, Bucky,” she sashayed away to Clint’s table, where the man was poring over his phone and already slurping at a huge mug of coffee.

The sand ran out in the small duck blue timer on the counter and Bucky started preparing Natasha’s coffee, taking the small copper pot from beneath the filter and setting it on a custom-built gas stove to warm through.

“Are you after a latte?” Bucky asked as he filled a coffee cup with a hot water.

“Yeah, but no rush. Take your time.” Steve reassured him, “It’s kind of interesting to watch.”

“Have you ever tried a hand-drip?”

“Nah, we didn’t have much when I was growing up, so our coffee was always cheapest my mom could find. We used a __lot__ of sugar. Now I can’t drink it black without it,” Steve admitted and then berated himself for the TMI - the guy didn’t need his life story to answer a yes-or--no question.

Luckily Bucky didn’t seem to notice, “Well, I was gonna suggest you try one sometime but if you’re gonna defile it like that, then no.” Steve laughed at his deadpan tone.

“Yeah, lattes are kind of my healthier compromise.” The conversation lulled and Steve fished around for something to say, “So… how was your day-off yesterday, did you get to relax?”

“Oh, err… no,” the barista looked a little uncomfortable for a second but then it was gone and Steve wasn’t sure if he hadn’t imagined it, “I mean, I had to go to college, so it wasn’t much of a day off. Not to mention, I’ve got some assignments coming up so my morning was all citations, word counts and endless editing.” He was looking down, throwing away the water that had warmed the cup a before finally pouring in the hand-dripped coffee from its small copper pot.

“Ah, I remember those days,” Steve commiserated, watching as Bucky started pulling coffee grinds from a small grinder into a two-shot arm and then tamped it down with an efficient twist of the wrist that unfairly highlighted the muscles in his bare forearm.

“Right, so for today, your friend kind of ruined my pun but its the only one I came up with,” Bucky informed him as he grabbed a napkin to tuck under Steve’s latte. He scribbled something down and then presented it.

__Is your name Earl Grey? Because you are a hot-tea!_ _

Steve frowned, “A hot tea? Oh!” He laughed, “Sorry, took me a moment - blame it on the early morning.”

“You know most teachers would already be teaching by now, right?”

“Well, shame to be them,” Steve replied with a shrug and enjoyed the laugh it wrung out of Bucky. “So why did my friend ruined it?”

“Well, she told me your name was Steve, so it kind of ruined the joke.”

“Who’s to say there isn’t noble blood in me?” Steve countered with a grin.

“Well then Earl Steve Grey, it’s nice to meet you.” Bucky dead-panned as he steamed the latte milk. “Would milord like a leaf or a heart today?”

“Surprise me, peasant!” Steve responded, going for regal but hitting something more like snotty brat. Bucky snorted so hard he almost dropped the milk jug.

“Wow! Ok, maybe you really do have noble blood or something.” Bucky acknowledged as he wiped off the steamer and finished off Steve’s latte. “I mean that’s a pretty intense way of saying you don’t care.”

“Well, that’s kind of what I was going for, so I’ll take it.” Steve replied as he picked up the finished tray. There was a beat of silence and before Steve remembered he was supposed to leave now. “So, guess, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure, enjoy your coffee.” Bucky smiled and was already cleaning down the surfaces.

“Thanks,” Steve lifted his tray in an embarrassingly dorky lieu of a wave and headed over to where Clint and Natasha were sat. Nat watched him cross the room with large smirk on her face.

“You bought the hand drip coffee so I had to stand there waiting for ages didn’t you?” Steve accused her as he sat down.

“Of course,” Nat replied shamelessly as she took her fancy coffee.

“And? Any conclusions?” Steve replied, desperately hoping he sounded blasé as blew on his coffee.

“Inconclusive,” Natasha shrugged her shoulders and snagged the napkin left on Steve’s saucer for her and Clint to read.

Clint snorted, “you’re a hottie? Wow. This guy is smooth. You know, if sandpaper was smooth.”

Steve graciously ignored him, “So, all that for nothing?”

“Of course not, watching you squirm could never count as nothing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so uncomfortable,” Clint chimed in gleefully.

“You guys are assholes,” Steve muttered into his mug.

“Love you too.”


	6. Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes face-to-face with his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, an apology: for all you lovely people who were waiting for an update, sorry it took so long! My life took a bit of a crazy turn when I decided to move country and sadly Stucky coffee shop AUs have not been first and foremost on my mind. Second, another apology: this chapter was a bit of rush job and has some minimal editing but not much so sorry for any mistakes and for the relative brevity of this chapter compared to others. I just wanted you guys to know I haven't given up on this story completely. The end game is insight, it's just a long time coming...

“Sooo… did you see him? Did he come in?” Darcy asked as soon as she’d changed in her work clothes and skipped around the counter. 

“See who?” Bucky asked, trying to look busy by reorganising the tea shelf. He just didn’t want the customers to think was being lazy. It wasn’t like he had any other reason to want to distract himself. Not one worth admitting anyway.

“Hmm… CBS, of course!” She responded scathingly, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, “Also, you know I did that yesterday, right?”

“Well, it’s this or scrub the counter for the third time; it’s slow today.” Bucky shrugged, “And yes, I did. He came in with his friend and his new girlfriend this morning.”

“That wasn’t his girlfriend,” Darcy snorted.

“How would you know; are you best friends all of a sudden?” Bucky retorted, giving up on the tea shelf to turn to her.

“Nope, but I know for a fact that our local Adonis is, in fact, gay. Straight from the horse’s mouth too.” Darcy preened, buffing her nails on her shirt and looking pleased with herself.

“You asked him?” Bucky questioned, aghast.

“Oh yes, I just said ‘hey CBS, are you gay? Asking for a friend,’” Darcy answered sarcastically, “Of course I didn’t just _ask_ him. I have some tact you know.”

“How did you find out then?”

“I gave him my number, well, almost.”

“Oh because that’s _so_ much better!” Bucky protested and then paused and narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, ‘almost?”

“Nothing, doesn’t matter, for once the devil ain’t in the details, man. Anyhow he suspects nothing, and you’re welcome by the way. Now you can stop pining and start _seducing_.”

“Seducing?”Bucky blanched, “ Nobody calls it that!”

“Yes, they do! I did just now!”

And Bucky was laughing when his whole day went to shit.

His first thought was he hadn’t changed a bit, but then he noticed the deepened creases around the eyes and the grey threading through the sandy hair and realised it was just the arrogance that hadn’t changed.

He’d thought a few times how it would feel if he ever saw him again. He’d imagined the shame, he knew the hate like an old friend, what surprised him was the fury; icy and slowly spreading through his body like a living sensation. It rooted him like shock and didn’t realise Darcy had stepped up to take an order like this was a _customer_ until she was speaking.

“Hello, welcome to-”

“Get. Out.” Bucky growled, his eyes drilling holes into the man who dared to smirk back at him as if he was being greeted like an old friend.

“Bucky, wha-?” Darcy spun round in surprise but Bucky was too focused on restraining his impulse to vault the counter and punch the smirk off Hydra’s chiselled jaw.

“Now, is that any way to speak to your Commanding Officer?” He asked playfully, as though this was just a game.

“You are not my _anything,_ ” Bucky spat, “Now get out before I call the police on harassment charges.”

Hydra’s smirk dropped and there was a flash of a sneer before he recomposed it into a pleading expression, “Hey, I’m just here because I wanted to say I’m sorry! Look it’s been five years; I’ve changed, I wanted you to know that. I was a mess back then and I fucked everything up because of it.”

“Do you honestly think I care? I stopped listening to your bullshit five years ago and I’m not about to start again now.” Bucky hissed, his hands clenched tight at his sides, “Get the hell out of here, right now, and don’t dare come back.”

“You’re not even going to listen to me?” Hydra exclaimed incredulously, “You’re not even going to let me apologise? I’m trying to do the right thing here! You should at least give the courtesy of five minutes.”

“You honestly think I owe you anything? No.”

“Bucky-”

“I believe my employee asked you to vacate the premises.” It was Wanda who interrupted him, her Eastern European vowels even sharper in anger. She was standing beside the dividing bookcase, her cell held ready in a raised hand, “I suggest you leave before I call the police.”

“Fuck you, you Russian bitch,” Hydra spat, stuck a finger in the air aggressively and then marched out, throwing the door shut behind him, which would have been more effective if it hadn’t been a two-way. Some of the patrons applauded his exit.

“Honestly, do you Americans even have geography lessons?” Wanda asked the room wonderingly and Bucky was so flush with sudden relief that it set him off into hysterical giggles. He was shaking as the shock finished its course through his system and he had to close his eyes and crouch behind the counter to stave off the panic attack threatening to overwhelm him. Darcy ducked down beside him, hand halfway to his shoulder, frozen mid-air as she studied him warily.

“Who was _that_?”

“An asshole I’d like to forget,” Bucky replied, concentrating on keeping his breathing steady.

“Yeah, I can see why,” Darcy quipped, though she looked unsatisfied with the answer.

By this time, Wanda had come around to the entrance of the counter, “Darcy, cover the till; Bucky, go to my office, take ten minutes.”

Bucky nodded and pulled himself up. He tried to ignore the stares as he crossed the café floor to Wanda’s small back office. Even here, plants were a feature, a fern in the shady corner and home-painted canvases on the wall complemented the mismatched wooden furniture and pale green walls. He sat down heavily in a chair upholstered in worn coffee-bag canvas and breathed in solitude.

There was still a film of disbelief covering his mind, looking back it seemed impossible that Hydra had been here at all. It felt like a lingering nightmare. One that pressed against his eyelids each time he closed his eyes and brought all the guilt and shame from the past with it. Brought back the dark dens whose walls knew all his damning secrets and the lies that looked so obvious in hindsight that it was humiliating to remember believing them.

Hydra had been more than just handsome. He’d been charismatic, driven and totally confident in his righteousness. He’d also been manipulative, maniacal and consumed by his own narcissism. He was blinding; everything he showed you was exactly what you wanted to see in yourself.

It had started small; a punch, justifiable. Bucky was on point, sweeping his eyes back and forth across the desert floor. He missed the signs and Joey lost a leg. Almost bled out before they could get him back to base and Hydra was livid. His whole team was furious. Nobody mentioned the black eye the next day. Bucky had taken his punishment with the full belief that he deserved it. He didn’t stop to think how a man could hide that much anger for a full twelve hours after the event.

His punishments were never that visible again. They came in insults, slightly rougher hands and degrading demands. It wasn’t that Hydra didn’t love him, Hydra could be kind, could be gentle, could snarl about other men that monopolised Bucky’s time. Jealousy was just the sign of how passionate the feelings were. When Bucky applied for a promotion and Hydra blackmailed him with pictures of them in bed together; he apologised, deleted the pictures, said he’d get help but he needed Bucky with him because Bucky kept him stable. It was a lie, but then it all was. Everything.

It had been the prisoner that finally wrenched his eyes open to the kind of man he thought he’d fallen in love with. The terrifying smile on Hydra’s lips as he’d wrenched the confession bloodily from their captive. He called in an anonymous tip and Hydra was pulled up for a court martial two days later.

Years later, Bucky had fallen in love with another man. Nathan had had a lot of walls to pull down and once he’d finished he’d been horrified at what was behind them. They’d eventually drifted apart, but Nathan had shown Bucky just how twisted his relationship with Hydra had been; the layers under the layers of abuse and manipulation. He’d been the one to get Bucky into therapy, had put him on the path he was following now.

Hydra’s reappearance shook all the stability out of his new life. The flowers were one thing, he could have ignored them. He’d wanted to ignore them; had wanted to so much, that he’d actually convinced himself they would be the end of it. He should have known better. Bucky wished he could believe this was just Hydra’s pathetic attempt to rekindle things but the truth was there could only be one reason for Hydra to track him down.

He knew.


	7. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Stark throws a work-dinner and Steve comes face to face with Bucky's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon-typical violence and language. Also for potential errors - this is an unbeta'd story so apologies for any mistakes - I'm always better at proofreading other people's work than my own so if you spot any issues, please let me know!

Steve was still replaying all the awkward turns of his morning conversation as he grabbed his hasty lunch. His whole day had consisted of sudden thoughts like _Did I really say “Surprise me, peasant”?_ as he monitored his ninth graders and _It’s interesting to watch? Seriously? Could you have made it any pervier?_ as he marked art history homework. By the end of 3rd period, he was ready to drain a bottle in mortification. Unfortunately, he knew the only alcohol he had at home was a very misguided gift of banana liquor.

He was just in the middle of replaying one of his less than stellar moments when Tony Stark strolled into the room, wearing a suit and sunglasses. Inside.

“Hey, kids. What’s up? How the masterpieces going? Mr Rogers teaching you well, yes? No bunking off class or inappropriate touching? Remember, kids, if you see something, say something. Wait, isn’t that for the terrorism hotline? Never mind, it still works. Is that a WL Harvey-Davidson motorcycle engine?” Stark flicked his sunglasses up, peering at the machinery sat on the table in the middle of the room. The kids were frozen in surprise, which he no doubt revelled in – Tony Stark, ladies and gentlemen, anything to make a scene, even if that meant flying in announced to spot-check random classrooms.

“Err… yes, yes, it is.” Steve replied, standing up from behind his desk, “it’s a still life class.”

“Still life? Isn’t that usually like bowls of fruit in dark rooms and buxom peasant women holding cabbages?” Stark frowned, eyes flicking back on forth between Steve and the engine.

“I thought the students might prefer a more modern approach,” Steve countered, chin jutting a little proudly. He knew in his head that squaring up for an argument with his boss was probably a bad idea, but it was the stubborn in him, “Besides, I like motorbikes.”

Stark studied him for a moment and then shrugged, “Well, you’ve got good taste, I’ll give you that. You got any kids?”

“What?” Steve answered eloquently. This was starting to feel like one of the conversations Steve had with Clint’s three-year-old.

“Kids, children, bambinos; they run around, make a lot of noise, fit in small spaces. Have any?” Stark reiterated impatiently, still peering over his ridiculous sunglasses.

“No, no. I’m not… No kids.”

“Ok, good. Staff dinner, tonight. There’s a Korean barbecue place round the corner, looked good so I’ve booked them out for the evening. Bring a date.” Stark didn’t wait for a response, probably because he didn’t need to. He just readjusted his sunglasses and turned round to address the students. “Ok, kids. Art good, be responsible, and remember, I’m watching you… Just kidding, cuz that would be incredibly illegal. Anyway, see you later.”

There was a whole 15 seconds of silence before the calm exploded.

***

“And then he just strolled out like he owned the place.” Steve moaned, sipping on his coffee. It was his free period and he was already caught up on next week’s lesson plans. He’d headed to the staffroom to grab a cup of coffee and discovered Natasha already there. She was listening to his story with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“Which he does.” She pointed out unhelpfully.

“Yes, he does, but that doesn’t mean he gets to send my lesson plan down the drain just because he felt like it.” Steve protested, even though he knew it kind of did, “It took ten minutes to calm them down. Some of the kids had snapped photos of him and were posting them all over their Facebooks and Snaptalks and Instantgrams. I had to confiscate 12 phones!”

“I think you mean Snapchat and Instagram. You know, you might be a man in his twenties, you talk like someone’s grandpa.” Natasha mused over her coffee cup.

“Hey, I like the simple things in life, ok.” Steve argued, “Art, motorcycles and-“

“-and baristas. Yes I know, nothing wrong with that,” Natasha interrupted, kicking her feet up on the table somehow gracefully.

“Has anyone ever told you-”

“-Probably,” she waved the unfinished jibe aside, “More importantly, are you gonna ask Bucky to be your date?”

“My- what? No!” Steve spluttered into his coffee, almost spilling it over himself in his haste to disillusion her.

“Why not? Stark said we can bring one. Just say he seemed interested in the school and you thought he might like to meet some more of the teachers.” She shrugged as if to hint that it’s what she would do.

“That’s… how do come up with lies so quickly?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” She replied smoothly, smirking a little.

“That’s a lie, right?” Steve responded, pretending to squint suspiciously.

“Of course, it is.”

“…Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you’re trying to derail the conversation.” Natasha pointed out shamelessly. She could be the most frustrating person to talk to. For someone whose native tongue wasn’t English, she sure knew how to talk circles round someone in it.

“I’m not inviting Bucky as my date, even if he was gay and even if he was interested, exposing him to the faculty of MAGiC on our first date would definitely send him running to the hills.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “Honestly, the stage lost its best drama queen when you became a teacher.”

“It’s not happening , Nat.”

“Fine, fine, it’s not happening,” Nat held up her hands in mock-surrender, then grinned “Maybe I’ll ask him then.”

“Don’t you dare.” Steve growled.

“Kidding, Rogers. I got my own date plans, besides. See you at dinner!”

“Wait, what? Who?” Steve called after her, but she merely waved as she walked away, leaving him scowling at the door as it swung closed behind her

***

Steve did not wish he’d asked Bucky to be his date. He might have died of second-hand embarrassment. It was rare that the parents on MAGiC’s staff got to relax alongside the others at a staff dinner but as Stark had provided late night childcare for every staff member, they were determined to have fun. People had even brought their partners along. Nobody seemed to remember it was a school night.

They’d left the barbecue place by 9 and had all been loaded into some kind of bus-limo, with disco balls and stripper poles and a fully-serviced bar. They’d been unloaded at Tony Stark’s bachelor pad and he was currently trying to DJ in his Iron Man suit. The staff were dancing and talking and shrieking and Steve was watching in bemusement as Natasha chatted up the bumbling Physics teacher.

“So how long has that been going on?” He yelled over the heavy bass line, gesturing with his half empty bottle of imported beer.

“Nat and Bruce?” Clint replied, arm wrapped around his wife’s waist as they shared a bottle of fancy looking wine. “Couple of months, she’s been taking it slow.”

“Scared he’s gonna spook,” Laura cackled. “So what about you, big guy? Heard there was a barista…”

“Is there anybody who doesn’t know about the barista?” Steve groaned, glaring at Clint who shrugged apathetically.

“Hey, I think it’s cute! Like a chick-flick or something, but the gay version, you know.” Laura beamed happily, almost sloshing her wine all over her lap.

“Thanks…”

“OK, who wants to dance? I feel like we should be dancing.” She turned on her husband who threw his hands up defensively.

“Why don’t you take Steve dancing, honey? I’ve just remembered I needed to talk to Thor.”

“Great idea, come show me your moves Steve.”

“I really don’t have any moves,” Steve protested, but knew the argument was already lost. In the five years he’d known her, he couldn’t remember a time he’d ever said no to her. Come for dinner, have another glass of wine, hold the baby for a sec – never.

“It’s ok, I don’t either!” She declared gleefully and then pulled him on to the dance floor to re-enact Napoleon Dynamite’s talent show. It was probably the best fun he’d had all year.

***

“Are you sure you’re gonna be alright?” Laura asked, one foot in the taxi and gazing at him with a worried expression.

“Yeah, of course. I’m only about 15 minutes from home here. I’m a fast walker,” he smiled reassuringly, hands stuffed deep in his winter coat, “Besides, I should probably walk it off a bit. I’ve got a bunch of 12-year-olds at 11 a.m. tomorrow.”

“Ok, if you’re sure. Send us a message to let us know you got home safe.”

“Of course.”

“Let the man go, Laura. He’s built like a brick-shit house; he’ll be fine,” Clint called from inside the taxi. "Let’s go home before the kids decide to adopt the nanny again.”

“I appreciate the faith, Clint. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, buddy!”

“Bye, Laura, see you soon.”

“Yeah, take care!”

Steve watched the taxi drive out of sight before pointing himself in the direction. It was just gone midnight; Stark had been ready to go all night but Pepper had talked some reason into him – just as well because many of the teachers had seemed up for it too. (Not Natasha though, she'd left early with her scientist).

He grinned to himself as he walked, beer still buzzing in his system and his ears ringing from the lack of deafening dance music. The streets were busy, weekday or not, midnight was early for New York City. Steve’s walk took him passed one bar street after another, were other revellers poured out into the streets, giggling as they moved from the bar to the club, debating over pints and cigarettes, elatedly declaring love as they said goodbye. Steve strolled through it, soaking up the night with a half-smile still on his face, even as he was cat-called by the street-workers that loitered down alleyways.

He was almost home when he heard the argument.

“Hey, watch your hands that hurt!” It was a guy’s voice, young and a little effeminate, which made sense as it was coming from an alley just a street over from a gay bar that Steve had made a fool of himself at one too many times in his youth.

“What? You saying you don’t like it a little rough?” This guy sounded older, and more than a little drunk.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying, Hydra. So take your hands off me. Now.”

Steve hesitated, ears straining to hear more of the conversation and alarm bells going off in his head.

“Listen, bitch, you don’t get to drink my drinks and then tell me what to do,” The older guy snarled and then there was a yell, half in pain, half in surprise and Steve was turning before he’d even processed the thought.

One man, blonde with good-looking features twisted into a scowl, had another slim, brunette man, no older than twenty-one, held up against a wall. He threw a punch into the man’s stomach just as Steve came round the corner.

“Hey! What are you doing?” Steve yelled, his fists tightening and his pulse spiking as the rage boiled up inside of him.

“Mind your own god-damn business!” The older guy sneered, releasing the guy who slid to the floor with a groan.

“And how about you get the hell out of here before I call the cops?” Steve spat, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Fucking try it – I’ll kill you before you have a chance.” The man declared, stepping forward meaningfully and Steve could smell the booze wafting off him. In the dim street-light, his snarling face looked almost demonic and Steve had no trouble believing him but he’d never backed down to a bully and sure as hell wasn't starting now.

“Then why don’t you go, before this gets any worse?” Steve replied evenly, phone still in hand and fingers over the screen.

“And why don’t you go fuck yourself?”

It was only Nat’s training that got him out of the way of the guy’s first punch. He might have been breathing fumes, but he was fast. Steve dropped his phone as he blocked a second punch aimed at his head and the man countered by landing a swift kick the back of Steve’s shin – an inch higher and he would have had him down. Obviously the guy knew what he was doing. Not great news.

Steve tried to stay out his way, barely keeping up with the barrage and backing up every time the man tried to grapple. Steve had always wondered if Nat went easy on him in their infrequent sessions and it was becoming more and more obvious that she did. His attacker landed an uppercut on his jaw and Steve felt his back hit the alley wall just as the punch was followed up by a knee between his legs. His lungs sucked in air in a harsh rasping gasp and his knees collapsed beneath him. He curled around the white-hot fire in his groin and gritted his teeth against the impulse to vomit.

The man laughed and grabbed his hair, yanking Steve’s head back so he could smirk at him. “You look good down there, pretty boy.”

“Fuck you!” Steve spat and balled his hand into a fist. He aimed at the guy’s own balls, but the other guy caught the fist in his free hand. Luckily, that gave the young man time to whack him round the head with a plastic lawn chair.

The man bellowed, releasing Steve and stumbling back to glare at the younger man. “Right, that’s it, you little cocksucker.”

And that’s when he pulled the switch-blade.

Steve barely had a second to realise what was happening. He launched himself up, grabbing the man around waist and trying to throw him into the wall. The man resisted, digging his heels in and bringing the knife down. Steve screamed as it bit into his arm, falling back and pressing on the wound. The older man was grinning, blood-lust terrifyingly transparent as he turned on the brunette, who was already backing up with the lawn chair raised.

“Shit, dude, calm down.” He placated, “just put the knife down, I won’t say anything I swear, just let us go.”

“You think I’m not calm?” The older guy laughed humourlessly, “This is the calmest I’ve been all fucking night.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, his breathing forcing itself past his teeth as he tried to think but every nerve in his body seemed to be screaming. He forced his eyes open and saw his phone, about five feet away in the middle of the alley. Would he have enough time to call anyone before the crazy asshole did anything?

He lunged for the phone, grabbing it as knife-wielding madman spun round. 

“What the fuck did I tell you about that fucking phone?” the guy shouted but Steve was already pressing in the numbers for 911. The phone was snatched out his hands as he smacked the call button and thrown against the wall. Steve had no idea if the call had gone through or not, but he was more pre-occupied with the guy dragging him up by his shirt, alcohol-rancid breath washing over his face. “You’re dead!”

Steve grabbed the man’s wrist with both hands, jerking the knife away from his stomach. The other man snarled, adding his other hand to the wrestle. Their knuckles turned to white as they tried to win control over the blade. In the back of his mind, he was aware that the younger guy was babbling but he couldn't focus on the words because the wound in his arm was screaming and he could feel the blood soaking through his clothes. He desperately tried for a head-butt but the guy dodged and pressed his advantage. Steve knew he was losing, even with the adrenaline flooding his system, his heart beating triple-time in his chest. He kicked out the guy’s leg but couldn’t see what he was doing and missed. That was all it took.

He roared as the knife slammed into his chest and it was the last noise he made because then he was gasping for breath that never seemed enough and every panting inhale _burned_.

“Holy fuck!” There was the sound of plastic hitting something solid and Steve realised the other man had the lawn-chair in his hands again but he didn’t stop at one hit this time. He smacked the chair over their attacker’s head with all the strength he had, whilst his target growled angrily and tried to fight him off. Steve’s hands were still curled around the handle of the knife in his chest. Everything in his body was yelling at him to pull it free but he knew it was probably the only thing still keeping him alive. His mind was fuzzy, as if he’d been holding his breath too long and it took him several long seconds to realise he was no longer standing.

The lawn chair was thrown across the alley and Steve fought with the fog in his brain to understand what that meant. He had to get up. He had to help. He had to… He had to… He had… He...

...the world faded to black.


	8. Bucky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for the long time between posts! I wish I had a better excuse than busyness but sadly that's all I can offer. I hope you enjoy this small addition to the story - the end is nigh, guys!

He knew he wasn’t at home the second he opened his eyes. The streetlights cast an orange glow through the window that threw unfamiliar shadows and highlighted foreign angles. He didn’t even notice he was tense until he realised he was in Sam’s backroom and it all rushed out in a sigh.

He groped for his phone in the dark, finding it on the floor beside the camp bed, and checked the time – 4:00am. Earlier than he needed to be, even when he had an extra half-hour on his commute, but he was battle-alert now and there was no point trying to get anymore sleep. He pushed himself out of bed quietly so he could go through a quick morning routine of press-ups, sit-ups, squats and any other reps he didn’t think would disturb his host until he couldn’t put off his need for a shower any longer.

He grabbed the towel that Sam had left on one of his unpacked boxes and headed to the bathroom. He winced at every creak and groan of the old plumbing and the steady thump-thump-thump of the water against the shower floor. He showered fast enough to make his old drill sergeant proud, using Sam’s Ultra-Moisture shampoo as a 3-in-1 that made every part of him smell faintly of coconut. It was in vain, it seemed, as when he stepped into the kitchen, Sam was already up and making coffee.

“It’s not as good as your espresso-stuff, but it gets me going in the morning.” Sam told the coffee machine as he fiddles with filters.

“It’s fine, any coffee is good coffee at 5am.” Bucky shrugged, standing uncomfortably in the doorway, “Sorry if I woke you.”

“Nah, military habits, up before the sun and get in a run.” Sam grinned over his shoulder and Bucky realised that what he’d mistaken for loungewear was actually running sweats.

“I just want to say thanks – again – for letting my crash-”

“-Hey, I said it last night; it’s no problem. Hydra turning up at the coffee shop? That’s not good, and if he’d followed you home…? Yeah, no. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.” Sam offered seriously.

“Thanks, man, but I think I’m good. Yesterday was just a bit of a surprise, you know. And it’s not as if I don’t know how to defend myself. I’ll be fine. Now I know he’s out there, I can be prepared.”

Sam nodded but Bucky could tell he wasn’t happy with the idea. Fortunately he didn’t press it, “Ok, so how about bagels for breakfast?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“Good, because that’s all I have.”

He wouldn’t be talked out of giving Bucky a lift to work so easily though. He cited wanting to take a run in a new park but Bucky could tell he was still worried, especially as he insisted on ‘getting a coffee to go’ as Bucky opened up. He finally left him in peace, free coffee in hand, when it became apparent that Hydra wasn’t lurking in the shadows outside the coffee shop, waiting to pounce.

It was good to get into the routine of an open; checking the dose and grind of the coffee, setting up the cake display, putting away the deliveries, wiping over tables that were missed the night before, turning on the till, and, finally, flipping over the Open sign on the door. It felt normal, as if the day before had just been a bad dream, and as the regulars and the commuters started to trickle in, he could almost put the whole thing out of mind. He stopped worrying if every new arrival was Hydra and started wondering if they were his favourite cute, blonde and stacked regular.

The new guy or, as Darcy called him, their intern started an hour after Bucky’d opened up. Ian was British, competent but socially-awkward and had a not-so-secret crush on Darcy a mile wide. Darcy knew this of course and flirted outrageously in her own special way – by ordering him around. Today he seemed a little at a loss without her determined direction, so Bucky took pity on him by getting him to clean the shelves while there were no customers.

Darcy barged in a full half-an-hour before her shift to order a bucket of coffee and blueberry muffin to get the day started.

“You realise it’s almost lunch time for most normal people,” Bucky noted as he started pulling shots for her coffee.

“I’m a student, normal rules don’t apply.” She countered flippantly, already picking pieces off her muffin.

“Have they ever?”

“Of course not, I’m a millennial – now, come to mama…” the latter was said to her coffee cup which was now brimming with steamy black coffee. She whisked it away to the cream and sugar before settling at a nearby table and pulling out her phone to flick through; the very picture of millenialness - all she was missing was the avocado.

The early-birds lunch time crowd was starting to spill in and Bucky was busy serving when Darcy suddenly swore so loud that half the customers in the store turned around to stare at her. She was staring at her phone in astonishment, oblivious to the reactions around her. She looked up at her phone straight at Bucky, “You _have_ to see this!” she declared, abandoning her half-drunk coffee to stride over to the counter.

Bucky’s current customer, a middle-aged white guy in shirt and tie, old enough to probably have a teenager at home, raised his eyebrows as if to judge Darcy’s parents.

“Oh, sorry,” she said as if just noticing him for the first time, “after you obviously.”

Bucky desperately held in a laugh as he finished the guy’s order and Darcy practically bounced next to him in anticipation. He dearly hoped the guy hadn’t recognised her as one of the baristas or Wanda was definitely going to wake up to an angry email tomorrow morning.

“Ok, what?” Bucky asked as soon as the guy was busy pouring six sugars in his latte.

“I need you to check if I’m right but I swear this is CBS!” she declared before shoving her phone under his nose. On the screen was a grainy image that looked like it had come from a night vision CCTV camera. There were three guys in the photo, two looking away from the photo and the other facing them. He was tall, blonde and certainly dorito-shaped.

“Yeah, it could be I guess,” Bucky shrugged, “Why?”

“Just watch the video – you won’t believe it.”

It wasn’t great quality; it was the kind that took a shot every 3 seconds or so, but it was enough to get the gist. The blonde man had stepped in to stop a fight and had ended up in the middle of it. Bucky was so focused on trying to positively ID the blonde as Steve, that he almost didn’t recognise the guy with the knife.

“Holy shit.”

“It’s him, isn’t it!” Darcy cried, misinterpreting the expression.

“Yeah… I mean, maybe, yeah, it could be,” Bucky replied, but he was fixated on watching the blonde man bleeding out on the floor. “Does it say…? Is he…?”

“Dead?” Darcy finished the sentence with her usual aplomb, “No, but he’s in critical. There were no names though, apparently the CCTV was leaked, the police are trying to keep it all quiet to protect identities. I guess they don’t want the blonde guy being mobbed on his hospital bed.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bucky replied, pulling his eyes away from the phone and reluctantly handing it back to its owner. It occurred to him that he should probably message Sam on his break. Apparently, he’d been worried for nothing.

“I take it he hasn’t been in today?” Darcy asked, and Bucky shook his head mutely. “Damn, where’s he work again? Maybe we could, like, call them?”

Bucky frowned judgementally, “And say what? Hi, this is Steve’s barista, just calling to find out if he hasn’t come in for coffee today because he’s been a knife fight?”

“ _Nooo_ , you call them up and say that you are Steve’s ‘friend’,” air quotes were applied, “and you haven’t been able to get in touch with him, You’re worried and want to check he came into work today. Easy.”

“And when they say, ‘I’m sorry, we have several teachers called Steve, what’s his last name?’ what will you do?”

“It’s Rogers.” Darcy replied smugly, “Just looked up Steve on Facebook and filtered for ‘works at MAGiC’. There was only one, by the way.”

“I’m still not calling the school,” Bucky declared firmly as another customer walked in, “Go and get changed, your shift starts in five.”

***

He called the school.

“Hello, this is Sandra from Maria’s Academy for Gifted Children, how may I help you today?”

“Err, hi, I’m looking for, well I was wondering if Steve Rogers had come into work today? I’m a friend of his, but I’ve not been able to contact him. We were supposed to meet this morning, but he didn’t turn up which is unlike him. I guess, I just got a little worried, I might just be wasting your time; he’s probably just forgotten…” Bucky trailed off before he rambled any further into the lie.

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s actually against our policy to give out any information about our employees,” the woman on the phone sounded genuinely apologetic; not a good sign. Surely, if Steve had been at work she wouldn’t have sounded so remorseful?

“Oh, I see, no, I understand. I mean I could be anyone, right? I just wanted to make sure he was OK, we made the plan a while ago and he messaged me yesterday to make sure we were still on. That’s why I thought it was weird when he didn’t show and didn’t pick up the phone.”

“I’m very sorry, sir, I wish I could help but my hands are tied.”

Definitely not a good sign.

“That’s alright, thank you anyway.” Bucky flicked the off-button on his phone disappointedly. He’d known it would be a waste of time, so why had he bothered?

Except, it hadn’t been entirely pointless, had it? The woman had been weirdly contrite, in the way receptionist rarely are. Something must have got through her customer-service-thickened skin; either that or she was really, really new.

Bucky looked up at the clock on the staff room wall; he still had ten minutes of his break left. He went hunting for Darcy’s video, checked the location of the fight in the article and the googled the nearest A&E. He bookmarked the hospital’s homepage just as Darcy’s head came round the corner to ask for help getting through the lunch time crowd.


End file.
